


The Governor being sweet to Milton

by noisystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisystar/pseuds/noisystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milton anxiously visits the Governor, determined to get something done about the loose cannon Merle. The Governor completely derails his plans. Slash, slash, slash! (but not enough slash :( )</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Governor being sweet to Milton

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a little not-serious something with the Governor and Milton, provided the Governor was not being creepy. I'm not sure I accomplished that, because he's always creepy when I write him. I tried to keep them very in-character, so I hope this is enjoyable for anyone who wants to read about these characters, being the way they are in the show, interacting in a situation we never had the experience of seeing them in. 
> 
> There isn't enough Philip/Milton, so please, let's make more!

The first knock startled Milton, even as the sound resonated from his own tamely-enticed knuckles as an uncertain announcement against the door. He continued, persevering through his sweat with the reassurance of the bloodied rag clutched in his shaking hand. “Philip! Ph—Philip…” He listened and replayed the cause for his visit in his head, trying to keep his voice firm.

He heard Philip approaching from the other side of the door. Milton stood back, preparing himself with his injured hand raised to his chest dutifully. His hair was bedraggled and his vague face was red and upset. Luckily he had not gotten any blood on his clothes.

“Come in, there’s no need to—“ The door opened, its secret standing in its wake with the noble appearance of a reluctant leader. Philip was darkly pristine, the shine of his skin like a pearl swathed in the unfortunate dirt of the Governor’s clothing. His eye patch was as blank as the door Milton had stared into, waiting; Philip’s other eye was snug in his kindness, immediately dropping to Milton’s bloody hand.

Milton regarded Philip with a look of little surprise, fashioning his hand like a wielded sword. It was his evidence, his weapon, to plead with the Governor. “Come in, Milton, come in…” Philip welcomed his guest inside with an acceptable amount of concern.

Once inside, the Governor fussed over his advisor, making sure he was comfortable at the table. Milton followed the Governor’s lead warily; he was anxious to get to the explanation of his visit, hesitantly waiting for the Governor to provide his full attention. “Now what happened?” the Governor proceeded. In place of inspecting the besmirched hand, he poured two glasses. Accustomed as he was to the Governor’s way of mediation, Milton was put off by his strange ritual of accepting an audience. He had no taste for tact and the courtship of acquaintances.

He looked waveringly down at the drink in front of him, keeping both of his hands close to his body. His lower lip quivered slightly in a chastising pout. “It was that—that crazy man, Merle. He has—no respect for what I am… what we are trying to do here. He…”

“Don’t be so hard on him,” the Governor interrupted. “Whatever he did, I am sure he didn’t mean it.” He took a sip of his drink. “Milton, we need to be sure we are doing our best to cooperate with the help we have here.” He leaned across the table, studying Milton’s wilting eyes closely. “Merle is a valuable member of our team. I’m sure you realize that.” He raised his eyebrows as if pointing with them to the numerous test subjects Merle had acquired for their experiments, a solid and physical testament to Merle’s necessity.

Milton’s bloodied fist hesitated against his chest as he reluctantly considered the Governor’s counsel. He began to refute.

“I’m asking,” the Governor imposed, “for you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Milton stopped, looking at the Governor pleadingly. He absolutely had no inclination to continue working with Merle. However, Philip so needed him to…

With averted eyes, Milton nodded, reticent. The Governor gazed levelly at him.

After a beat, he spoke. “You know I appreciate that.” He now glanced at Milton’s hand. “Let me have a look.” He stood from his chair, choosing now the empty one beside Milton.

The reddening of his distress suddenly relented. As the Governor sat beside Milton, he brought with him a breath of human warmth to which Milton was hardly accustomed. Choosing seclusion for most of his life, Milton found human contact to be strange and uneasy. Even his speech became distracted when employed to communicate with others. When the Governor sat beside him, Milton stiffened, seizing all thoughts in his uncertainty. As close as he was to Philip, (closer than he had been to anyone previous) he was crippled by anxiety. Generally, Milton had considered his preference for solitude an advantage. Now, with Woodbury’s revered and beloved Governor sitting beside him and opening his hands to Milton’s, Milton felt severely lacking.

Philip smiled at him plainly. His lighted eyes were gently crinkled beneath a softly swept brow, and beneath his rounded nose were those charismatic lips that told the entire story of all the women flocking at the Governor’s door. He must’ve sensed it; Philip’s lips twitched at a smirk. He moved towards Milton, who was battling unwieldy nerves. Philip gently detached Milton’s balled fist from his chest. Milton’s hand easily submitted to Philip’s lead. His fingers creaked away from the bloodied rag, which blossomed in stained maturity in his palm.

“See? I won’t bite,” Philip chuckled. Milton disliked looking at his own blood. He wasn’t much experienced in the blinding, warning-red sight of it and preferred it to keep it that way. His own blood had been a pinnacle of dismay in his childhood, due to people like Merle. Now, Milton was learned enough to know better than to tolerate it—only, the world was no longer one that fostered a lonely man’s choices.

“It doesn’t look bad,” Philip decreed. Milton pointedly refrained from looking at the wound. “Milton,” Philip stated firmly, a voice that caused Milton to question his stubborn resistance. “There’s no need to be so tense. Have a drink.”

Milton shook his head stiffly. “No thanks,” he barely managed. “Drinking makes me—it makes me—I don’t really drink. My hand—thanks, I think you’re right, it’s—it’s fine now—“

One of Philip’s hands found the back of Milton’s neck. His fingers wrapped around it, cradled it, rubbed it. Goosebumps cropped up where Philip’s fingers grazed him.

Philip sighed. “You’re lucky this is the worst you have to deal with,” he stated with dark optimism. Milton looked at him, puzzled and a bit worried about Philip’s train of thought. Philip’s hand was scooped ceremoniously around Milton’s injury. Tamely, Philip closed Milton’s palm, shrouding the stained rag. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and what you’re willing to do for me. I guess I feel pretty lucky myself,” Philip grinned. His eyes would not leave Milton, who was feeling peaky. This range of contact was frighteningly unknown to him, as Philip must have been aware.

“I—I don’t understand why it is Merle who has to be the one helping me. It would almost be better if I just did it all myself,” Milton clambered for stable footing as the room became just the table, with Philip and himself squeezed inside.

“No. I wouldn’t let you do that. Your place is here, safely behind these walls. There’s no need for you to… dirty your hands, out there.” Philip’s thumb crawled over Milton’s fist. Milton relented too easily, but shifted the subject.

“He’s reckless. He almost delayed the experiment by a few days’ worth. That’s how he did this,” Milton complained, jerking on his injured hand.

“I’ll talk to him,” Philip assured sedately. He took Milton’s hand in his and lowered it. “And I want you to do something for me. Can you agree to that?”

Philip had moved incredibly close. Milton wasn’t sure where he should put his eyes; Philip’s were too intimidating. He was asking too much already. Even at the end of the world, Milton couldn’t be ready for anything other than loneliness. Philip had done so much for him, made him comfortable, and he still couldn’t be asked to do what should have been possible.

He had always seen it; it was something he recognized too simply. That Philip was lonely, too.

Philip smiled. “Relax.” He removed himself from Milton’s side, standing and draining the rest of his glass. “Take the rest of the day. Forget about the experiments—“ he caught that rebellious look in Milton’s eye—“They can wait until tomorrow.”

“But Philip—“

“No, no buts. I need you to be in working order. That means taking some time for yourself once in a while. You work too hard for me,” Philip placed a hand on Milton’s shoulder.

Finally, Milton replied in the only way that felt acceptable. “Okay.”

“Good.” Philip sighed. He looked worn out. Had dealing with Milton really taken that much out of him? Milton glanced guiltily at the table, noticing the paperwork that had been strewn across it. Milton stood, awkwardly kicking out his chair and stepping to Philip’s side.

Milton looked up at Philip unwaveringly, clutching both hands to the reddened rag. “I d-do thank you…For all that you have done. For me. Thank…you.”

Philip gazed down at him. In his one visible eye beat his steady pulse, kept afloat on his comfortable, notched smile. “Milton…” His voice was a confession. Milton almost capsized just from the exposure to such beginnings of sentiment. He was hopeless. He felt Philip’s hand reach for his side. Milton couldn’t even think of removing his eyes from Philip’s, he felt like his eyelids were stretching open to their full capacity, thank goodness for the shield of his eye glasses. “You’ve been invaluable.” Philip gently introduced his hand to Milton’s side, moving slightly to face him completely. “I hope you don’t mind this.”

In spite of everything, Milton felt as if he were craning towards Philip, his lips vibrating, enticed, as Philip leaned down and calmly touched his mouth to Milton’s cold cheek. The shine of Milton’s skin remained with Philip’s lips as he moved back. Philip searched Milton’s addled expression, and after some analysis, seemed satisfied.

“I—I—I don’t—“ Milton felt compelled to cover whatever had happened with the only asset he had any hope of maneuvering.

“Milton. Stop worrying,” the Governor instructed. “I’ll take care of Merle. Go unwind. Everything will be fine.” That saucy smirk on his face—he knew exactly what he was doing, he always did. Milton found himself feeling almost giddy for it.

“I’ll… I’ll do that. And I’ll, uh, I’ll see you…la—la…”

“Later.” Philip affirmed. 


End file.
